Jane Doe
by LilPotterfanfic
Summary: In which college professor, Jane, is left with nothing but the worst accidental minion ever, a snarky cop best friend, and newfound knowledge she doesn't yet fully understand to defend herself against the supernatural turf war and a hybrid named Klaus, who doesn't plan on letting her go free anytime soon. (Feat. Chloe, who doesn't understand why she wants to suck blood nowadays.)
1. Chapter 1

" _We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience."_ ~Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

* * *

 **Jane Doe**

 **Chapter 1: Quelque Chose Mauvaise Cette Manière Vient**

Fridays never wound up well for Jane.

Be it over-seeped tea, a scratch from her cat, Josephine, or a lack of taxis on her street, Friday mornings didn't start well. Work at the archives was slow, too, students not willing to waste the first day of their weekend in the shelves. And nights were always a disaster. Detective Fletcher Gaudet, Jane's best friend, usually dragged her out to a club or a bar after their respective shifts were over. His excuse was that Fridays were one of the few days when he was off-duty, and he wanted to spend them having fun.

But fun, for Jane, was a quiet night at home with her cat and a good book, not tramping through the Desire Area in search of liquor and decent music.

So when her stockings ripped as she crouched to pick up Josephine, and she was ignored by so many taxis that she decided to walk to work, Jane was unperturbed. It was just another Unfortunate Friday, and the town archives were even more silent than usual when she finally made it to her shift. As a result, she dug her copy of _Galwain the Green_ out of her bag, fished some Post-It Notes and a pen from her desk, and got to work annotating for the lecture in her Medieval British Literature class Monday morning.

It was around eleven when the first one walked in.

Tall- taller than Fletcher, even, which was a feat in and of itself- with dark blonde curls and a smirk like a hyena. There was the faintest hint of a five o'clock shadow painting his jaw, and a dimple on his chin. The man stuck out like a sore thumb, surrounded by wooden bookshelves as tall as he was and locally-made art pieces that Jane painstakingly dusted every morning. The man didn't seem to mind though, holding himself as comfortably as she thought he might have in his own home, and he approached her with a feral-looking grin curling at plump pink lips.

"Hello, love," he mumbled, British accent throwing Jane for a loop for a moment. "I'd like to request a record viewing."

Jane nodded, closing her book and stowing it in a drawer before reaching for the ancient desktop computer she worked off of. "What name is the record stored under?"

"Marcellus Gerard."

That name made Jane stop short for a moment. She had read those records when they were reevaluating the city archives, and good Lord. They were the ramblings of a mad man- a slave from the early days of the city, convinced that vampires and werewolves were real, and that his master was one of them. As sad as the story was, Jane could understand why the records weren't available for public access. If she were in the same situation as Marcellus' descendants, she wouldn't want anyone reading them, either.

Jane sent the British man a commiserating frown. "Those records are sealed, I'm afraid," she told him. "I'm going to need to see some form of-"

The British man _rolled his eyes at her_ and leaned across her desk to get closer. Jane nearly leapt a foot in the air and fought the urge to smack him upside the head with her book. He was _touching_ her _desk._

"I'm sure you don't, darling," the man purred, accent and low grumble wrapping around his words and reminding Jane of tea hitting the bottom of her cup on a rainy day. "Are you sure you can't just fetch me those journals without seeing my ID?"

Jane tugged nervously on the necklace Fletcher had given her two birthdays ago. She didn't like the way this man was staring at her, eyes too wide and blue. "I really can't," she reasoned. "Those records are sealed by order of both the city and the Gerard family. I can't let you see them without their permission."

Of course, Jane left out the fact that she had read those journals herself, illegally, without permission from anyone, but that was beside the point.

The man frowned at her. "What's your name?"

"Jane," she supplied, feeling inordinately uncomfortable in this man's presence.

She wished, suddenly, that she weren't the only person working the archives at the moment. Her boss, Mrs. Wellington, was on lunch break, although she should have been back by now.

"Do you have a last name?"

Jane tugged on the necklace again. "It's just Jane."

"Alright, Just Jane," quipped the British man. "My name is Klaus, and you are going to let me see those journals."

Jane felt her face color considerably. "No, I'm _not_ ," she told him, because she didn't like it when people were rude to her, she didn't like pushy men, and she certainly didn't like it when rude, pushy men tried to tell her what to do.

 _Stupid Fridays, stupid Jane, stupid, stupid British man who was far more handsome than any living person had any right to be-_

Klaus scowled and- were his eyes turning red? "Listen to me, Jane," he edified. "I want you to take me into the back room, give me the journals, and then forget that I was ever here. Do you understand me?"

"Of course I understand you!" Jane snapped, and she was started to get very frustrated, because she couldn't do anything unless he gave her some form of ID that would allow him to look at these records, and she was really wishing that he would leave her alone. "I don't think you understand me. I can't let you look at the Gerard records unless you give me ID that says you are a part of the family, or permission from either the city or from the family itself."

"Why aren't you listening to me-?" Klaus bayed, and then stopped short, back-to-blue eyes fixated on Jane's necklace. And- _he just sniffed like a freaking dog._ "Your pendant has vervain in it."

Jane frowned.

What on Earth was vervain?

"Um, sure?" she said, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Klaus didn't seem all angry and roaring anymore, but there was still a quiet sort of violence crackling around him that made her nervous, like a wolf waiting to pounce. Where was Mrs. Wellington when you needed her?

When next Klaus spoke, it was far softer, and far more malignant than before: "Are you one of his?"

Jane felt her nose wrinkle in confusion. "One of whose?" she asked, because the only "him" she had any personable connection with was Fletcher, and she highly doubted he was incriminated in some nefarious plot that somehow also involved Klaus and the Gerard journals.

Fridays really did suck.

"Marcel's. Do you work for him?"

"No?" said Jane, confusion tinging both her voice and her face. "I work for the archives?"

"Then why the hell do you have a necklace with bloody vervain in it?" Klaus demanded.

"I don't even know what vervain is!" Jane babbled, sufficiently frazzled.

Just who was this man, and why was he so concerned with her necklace? There were a lot of crazies in the city of New Orleans, Jane knew, and she had run into her fair share of them. But this man didn't remind her of them, with their wind-swept hair and wild eyes, and he certainly didn't smell as bad as they did. And beside the yelling-at-her bit, Jane thought that Klaus seemed lucid enough to not be drunk, and he didn't _smell_ like marijuana, at least.

Swallowing down her trepidation, Jane squared her shoulders and planted her feet. "Sir," she said, in as calming a voice as she could, "there's nothing I can do for you, so if you don't have any other business in the archives, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Jane closed her eyes immediately and held her breath, anticipating shouting, violence, and possibly her own death. None of that happened. Instead, there was a split second of silence before the chime over the front door rang and Mrs. Wellington returned from her lunch break.

Ah, good. Someone who could stand up for Jane since she hated standing up for herself. Problem solved!

Jane could have sworn Klaus was growling, staring at her with ill-disguised anger. His shoulders were thrown back, making him look impossibly taller, and then all of a sudden he was backing down again with a long breath of air and a jaunty smirk. "I'll be back later, love," he promised, and then with a jingle of the bell over the door, he was gone.

* * *

 _Naturellement_ , Jane's Friday got even worse.

Fletcher Gaudet, Cajun detective for the NOPD and amateur foodie, had made it a point to meet with Jane for lunch every single day at one pm on the dot since the moment he realized that they shared a lunch break. Jane's opinion on restaurants was somewhat meaningless, however, seeing as all she cared about was a good cup of tea with her meal and a distinct lack of tourists.

Bistro Daisy had none of these things, and Jane scowled into her Mozzarella salad as a loud family from Chicago exclaimed over oysters and salmon mousse terrine. Fletcher didn't seem to care, devouring his duck confit with gusto, and Jane couldn't help but envy him and his easy nature as a head ache slowly developed.

She usually didn't mind tourists- most of the New Orleans natives didn't- and the ones who did come into the archives were always pleasant. Jane appreciated their curiosity as to the history of her town. But after the fiasco that was Klaus and his impossible requests, Jane could use some peace and quiet. If it weren't for Fletcher, she'd be at her apartment right now, drinking Jasmine tea and probably debating on whether or not to call in sick for the rest of the day so as to end Unfortunate Friday ten hours early.

Jane scowled into the white mug of hot water that the waitress called tea and sighed lowly, mixing in a big dollop of honey in an effort to give it some flavor. She fought back the urge to hold the warm cup up to her forehead to soothe the migraine, taking a big gulp from it instead.

Fletcher finally looked up from his meal at her sigh and frowned, eyebrows raising in acknowledgement of her displeasure. "What's wrong, _beb_?" he inquired, dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin. "What's with the _bahbin_?"

"I do not have a _bahbin_ ," Jane replied petulantly, the very pout he was referring to rearing its ugly head. "I just have a head ache, that's all."

Fletcher made a noise of understanding. "Rough day at the library?"

Jane nodded glumly. "Not so much of a rough day as a rough guest," she corrected.

Fletcher tensed, immediately giving Jane his full attention. Unless she was mistaken, his hand started twitching to the firearm she knew he kept concealed beneath his leather jacket. "Anything I need to handle for you?" he asked.

"No," Jane soothed immediately. "No, no. I think I handled it okay… But he-" She paused in the middle of the sentence and shook her head, about to say _But he said he would be back._

That would not be a good idea. Fletcher would assign either himself or a plain clothes officer to guard the archives 24/7, and Mrs. Wellington would probably have a heart attack. And then Jane would be in charge of the archives, which would just be awful for everyone involved.

"If anyone gives you any trouble," Fletcher began, "I want you to call me. I don't care what time it is or where I am, I will come help you."

"What if you're in the middle of a murder investigation?" Jane questioned, because Lord knew Fletcher and his coworkers had enough of those to deal with in New Orleans.

"I will drop the dead body and come get you."

Jane opened her mouth and then hesitated, about to tell him that that was a good way to get himself fired, and decided to just nod instead. Sometimes, there just wasn't much of a point in arguing with Fletcher.

Fletcher grinned and sat back in his seat, folding his cloth napkin primly and setting it down next to his plate. "There's a new jazz bar on Frenchmen Street," he began, eyebrows waggling like they always did when he got excited. "Blue Nile. Wanna check it out tonight, _beb_?"

Jane gave a groan of complaint, running a hand through her hair. Practically speaking, this wasn't the worst place Fletcher could have picked- Frenchmen Street was in Bywater, which really wasn't so far from Jane's apartment in Broadmoor.

"We'd have to go through the French Quarter to get there," she pointed out sourly. "On a Friday night? That's suicide, Fletch."

"We could take a ferry downriver," Fletcher suggested.

"Don't they stop running at midnight?"

"Fine. We'll take my motorcycle."

"Then you won't be able to drink."

Fletcher rolled his eyes dramatically, spearing the last bit of duck confit on his fork and popping it into his mouth with a sigh. "Stop complaining, _beb_ ," he instructed. "It'll be fun, I promise. I'll pick you up when your shift is over, alright?"

Jane shifted awkwardly in her seat before nodding promptly. "Fine," she said apace. "I'll go with you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to have any fun whatsoever during the entire night- I'm just going to sit there and complain about the music being too loud and there being too many people there until you get so cross with me that you take me home."

To her dismay, Fletcher just winked at her and grinned. "I wouldn't expect any less from you, _beb_."

* * *

Say what you will about Bistro Daisy and its patrons, but the one thing that increased its standing in Jane's favor was the restaurant's fortunate location in the Lower Garden District- which meant amazing proximity to both Tulane University, the college Jane technically worked for, and Mojo Coffee House, the shop that sold the best chai tea latte she had ever tasted.

Armed with her drink, and a chocolate croissant for good measure, Jane made the trek back to the archives and behind her desk, ignoring the "no food or drink" rule that she painstakingly reinforced every day. Laws be damned. It was an Unfortunate Friday, and Jane wanted her comfort food.

The croissant, of course, was a disaster just waiting to happen, and, predictably, a very surly Jane nearly burst into tears when she smeared chocolate all down the front of her shirt.

So it was that when Elijah Mikaelson walked into the Tulane University Archives, it was to find that the rather small receptionist looked like she was about to cry. This stumped Elijah for a moment, because in his experience women didn't cry unless they had something to cry _about_ , and nothing seemed outwardly wrong with this young lady.

It couldn't, he reflected quietly, be about Niklaus, could it? Elijah's younger brother had complained about the stubborn librarian hours ago, and while Klaus may be hard to deal with, his nonphysical battles with people usually didn't leave them weeping for the foreseeable future.

Usually.

Jane glanced up when she heard the doorbell ring and immediately proceeded to color considerably when she saw the tall, dark haired man staring at her with a raised eyebrow. She also spilled what was left of her drink all down her already-ruined shirt and the textbook she had been reading out of, as well as the notes she needed for class Monday morning. To make matters worse, the latte was still rather hot, and she let out a startled yelp at the burning sensation it elicited.

The tall, dark figure standing in the doorway reacted immediately, and before Jane knew it the man was in front of her, eyes sweeping her up and down to find any possible injury.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, British accent making Jane's blood run cold for a moment.

She straightened immediately and nodded hastily, stepping back and away from the desk to reach for the paper towels stashed underneath it-

 _Crunch._

When Jane looked down, it was to find that she had stepped on- and subsequently broken- her phone.

She sighed deeply, closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then opened them and forced a smile. "Thank you," she said. "I'm alright. Just a bit of a train wreck this afternoon. How can I help you?"

Elijah, for just a split second, was stumped. He didn't think he had seen this many accidents happen in such a short amount of time since the Battle of Karánsebes*.

He shook his head, clearing it, and held out a hand for her to shake. "My name is Elijah Mikaelson," he offered. "I believe you met my brother, Niklaus, earlier?"

Jane couldn't keep her expression from sourness, but she shook Elijah's hand nonetheless. "Yes," she replied ambiguously, thinking it might be rude to tell Elijah that his brother was the most uncouth man she had ever met. "The blonde man looking for the Gerard journals?"

Elijah nodded. "The very one." Here, he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. "I am also under the impression that he was quite rude to you. I feel the need to apologize, on his behalf."

Jane blinked, not expecting that particular set of words in the least, and, unbidden, color flooded her cheeks and she gave a toothy smile. "Thank you, Elijah," she acknowledged sincerely. "I really do appreciate that."

He gave a slight quirking of his lips before drawing his shoulders back, all business once again. "Well," he prompted. "As needs must, my family really is in great need of those journals, so I find that I am obligated to ask you if I may see them."

And there it was. Jane's breath caught in her throat, and she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, feeling the shards of her cellphone's screen beneath her heel. Her gaze flitted to Mrs. Wellington's office door. Jane wished her boss were manning the desks today and that she was on inventory- it was a difficult day for customer service, that was for sure.

With a heavy sigh, Jane fixed her gaze onto Elijah's tie and stated, "Those journals are sealed. I can't let you see them without express permission."

Elijah couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for this young woman. She was clearly just trying to do her job, but he knew Niklaus, and he knew that his brother would find some way to get a hold of the journals. It was just bad luck on this girl's part that she was standing in his way.

"Look," Elijah began, "my brother will get his hands on the Gerard journals eventually, and while I understand that it might go against your policies, it would be much simpler for everyone involved if you just gave them to him now. We could make a deal, of sorts; if you let me have the journals now, I will promise you that Niklaus will never come to harass you again."

And Jane wanted to. Jane really, _really_ wanted to. She hated confrontation, and even after only having talked with him for a few minutes, she had a premonition that Klaus brought conflict with him wherever he went.

There were, however, two problems with Jane's give-in-to-the-British-and-let-them-have-the-damn-journals plan.

One, the journals weren't even in the archives at the moment. She had snuck them up to her apartment when she first started reading them, and hadn't quite been brave enough to bring them back

Two, Jane had never, _ever_ broken the archive's rules before.

And, she realized, disappointed, she wasn't about to start now.

"I appreciate your understanding," Jane began reluctantly. "Truly, I do- But." She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, and said, quite clearly, "I can't let you look at those journals. If your brother wants to see them, he can come back here with a note from either the Gerard family or the city, but otherwise, he's just going to have to deal with it."

To Elijah's credit, he took this rather well.

The only reaction was a sigh and a straightening of his jacket. Elijah nodded (although Jane didn't miss the sad, tired pull of his eyebrows), and replied, "Very well, then. I'll let Niklaus know your response. It was very nice to meet you, Miss Jane. I am sure that we will be seeing each other again very soon."

Jane bopped her head up and down quickly, eager to get the strange man to leave. As kind and gentle as Elijah seemed, there was an air to him- and his brother, for that matter- that did not sit right with Jane. Fletcher would have called it intuition, but Jane didn't care what it was called. All she knew was that she wanted nothing to do with the Mikaelsons _or_ the Gerard journals, and the first thing she was going to do after her lecture Monday morning was bring the documents back to the archives, and then lock them up where no one would ever have the desire read them, ever again.

"Have a good day," Jane called wanly after Elijah's retreating form.

He turned, smiled at her, and waved, and then the door was shutting behind him and the library was quiet once again. Jane let out a sigh of relief and slumped down into her desk chair, trying to ignore the now-cold, spilt coffee seeping into the bottom of her skirt.

Her gaze flitted to the old clock over the door and she emitted a huff of air. Two more hours to go until the end of her shift, but, unfortunately, many more left before Jane's Friday finally came to an end.

* * *

At eight pm that night, Fletcher pulled up on his bike in front of Jane's apartment building, and the two of them made their way from Broadmoor to Bywater.

All things considered, traffic in the French Quarter was really not as bad as it could have been on a Friday night. Jane and Fletcher made it through in less than twenty minutes, and Fletcher turned to send Jane a smug grin the moment the bike's wheels hit Marigny.

Frenchmen Street, however, was a mad house.

It was mid-October, and as such, crowded as all get out. Tourism was at its peak the closer you got to Halloween, although not anything near to the insanity that was Mardi Gras season. The street was packed, and Fletcher nearly hit a few people as they weaved their way through the masses.

Past The Spotted Cat and the Frenchmen Market, past the Poets' Gallery and the Apple Barrel. Fletcher finally pulled to a stop in front of Blue Nile, already bursting at the seams with booze and blues-happy patrons.

Jane could already hear the music pulsing as she hopped off the back of the bike and shook her head free of the extra helmet. The hodge podge of crooning jazz mixed with the pounding hip hop from the club across the street, and the screaming rock 'n roll from the bar next door made her head spin. People from every walk of life laughed and danced on the porch that clung to the second story of the venue, and the line to get in wrapped around the block.

"Come on." Fletcher tugged on Jane's wrist, leading her past the line to the entrance of the bar. "Alexie is bouncing tonight."

"Really?" Jane blinked in surprise. "Wasn't he working the Spotted Cat last weekend?"

Alexie Popov was a freakishly tall, obscenely well-built Russian immigrant with the heart and personality of a goofy teddy bear. He was something of a serial bouncer, switching from club to club across all of New Orleans in an effort to earn enough money to pay for his college education. At last count, he was employed at ten bars, although, considering his position at Blue Nile, Jane mentally upped that number to eleven.

Even in the midst of the lunacy of tourists and locals trying to get into the bar, Alexie was an island of cheerful serenity. His already-toothy grin grew even wider when he caught sight of Fletcher and Jane edging their way toward him, and he called, in his voice like a bullhorn, "Professor! Good to see you!"

Jane gave him a delighted smile. "You too, Alexie," she replied, soft voice swallowed by the clamoring masses. Alexie seemed to hear her, regardless, and flushed warmly in pleasure.

Speaking with Alexie was always a joy. Jane had first met him at the beginning of the school year when he enrolled in one of four lecture courses that she taught at Tulane University- Regional History 1101. He was a breath of fresh air in the classroom, always happily engaged and nodding along during Jane's lessons.

How he and Fletcher knew each other, Jane wasn't sure, but she brushed it off rather easily. Fletcher seemed to be friends with everyone in New Orleans, tourist or otherwise. It wasn't that difficult to believe that he had run into Alexie on patrol one day and struck up a comradery with him.

Fletcher grinned at Alexie and tugged him into a quick handshake-turned-hug, patting his heavily muscled back before pulling away. "Think you can get us in there, man?" Fletcher asked, pointing a thumb at the blue-tinged, dimly lit interior of the jazz bar.

Alexie nodded earnestly. "For Professor and Detective? Yes!"

He pulled a stamp out of his back pocket and pressed it onto the back of Jane and Fletcher's hands, pectorals straining against his tight blue shirt as he did. When Jane looked down at the mark, she saw an azure crescent moon that matched the one hanging off of Blue Nile's sign. Alexie waved them through, then, not bothering to check either of their ID's. Both Fletcher and Jane were of age, although Fletcher, who had a very young face, got carded more often than not when they went out together.

Fletcher sent Alexie a playfully judging glance and raised an eyebrow. "You know it's illegal not to card someone in America, right, Popov?" he joked, waving the stamp on the back of his dark hand impishly.

"You not arrest me, Detective," Alexie scoffed.

Jane chortled, spirits sufficiently raised, and said, "Thank you, Alexie! I'll see you in class on Tuesday!"

Alexie waved at their retreating forms, nearly smacking a nearby patron, waiting in line, as he did. "Have good weekend, Professor!"

"You, too," Jane cried back.

Fletcher just rolled his eyes, arm going around Jane's waist and swinging her off the floor. Jane let out a yelp of annoyance as he did so, but she went ignored, Fletcher maneuvering the two of them over to the packed bar and setting Jane down on a stool.

"I hate when you do that," she told him, pushing mussed hair out of her face and pouting.

"Aw, _beb,_ drop the _bahbin,"_ he instructed, sending a suave grin at the bar tender behind the counter. "You and Alexie would have stood there all night making the veiller. We came here to party!"

Jane huffed, a grumpy expression clouding her face. "There's nothing wrong with being nice," she pointed out petulantly.

Fletcher laughed at her again, finally catching the attention of the bartender, who meandered over to them and gave a red lipstick and white teeth smile.

"What can I get for you two, darlings?" she asked, though her attention was fixed firmly on Fletcher.

"A whiskey sour for me and a Moscow mule for my _Mamere,"_ Fletcher instructed, winking when the bartender giggled at his joke. Jane did not think that it was very funny.

"Coming right up," the bartender replied, disappearing not soon after.

Jane pursed her lips at Fletcher, and said, "I can't believe you called me a Grandma."

Fletcher's mouth twitched as he tried to fight back a smile. "You're right, _beb_ ," he acknowledged. "I think Grandpappy might be a better description for you."

A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it, and Jane was grinning, eyes bright and cheeks rosy, when the bartender passed their drinks across the countertop, waving away Fletcher's attempts at paying her and asking for his number, instead. Fletcher gave it readily.

"You can't go anywhere without getting asked out, can you?" Jane teased.

Fletcher shrugged and then guffawed, taking a long draught from his whiskey sour. He was blushing noticeably. "It's 'cause I'm so charming," he bragged. "C'mon, _beb._ Let's go-"

And at that moment, Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson appeared.

"Hello, love," Klaus chirped, looking very dangerous indeed. "Fancy seeing you here."

Elijah forced a pained smile, looking very out of place in his stiff suit, and greeted Jane with; "I did tell you that I would be seeing you again soon."

Jane's eye twitched. " _Connard!_ " she cursed, immediately flushing at Elijah's raised eyebrow. "Pardon my French," she asserted immediately. "Why are the two of you here?"

Fletcher, it seemed, did not hold the same reservations that Jane did. "Who the hell are you?" he asked rudely, not-so-subtly edging himself between Jane and the two Mikaelson men.

"Klaus Mikaelson," the blonde brother explained smoothly. "Your sweet little girlfriend has access to some documents I need to take a look at."

"I'm not his girlfriend," Jane corrected quietly, shutting up when Fletcher turned around to glare at her.

"Are these the douchebags who were harassing you at work today?" he asked, voice taking on a frighteningly serious tone that Jane had never heard from him before. At her nod, he got up, grabbed Jane by the forearm, and steered her away from the bar. "We're leaving."

"But-"

" _Now,_ Jane."

"Ah," Klaus' voice called from behind them. "You're a witch, aren't you, boy?"

Jane dug her heels into the ground and turned back to face the brothers. "What?" she asked. Fletcher tried to pull her away again but she shook him off. "A witch? What is he talking about, Fletch?"

"It doesn't matter," Fletcher growled over the pounding music. "Jane, let's go."

"No," Jane insisted stubbornly. Elijah had gotten up from his stool and was looming over her shoulder. "I want you to explain what's going on."

"And I will. Just _not here._ Come _on,_ Jane."

Jane couldn't help but harrumph at that. Fletcher had absolutely no intention of telling her anything, and Jane knew it. And like hell she was going to let him treat her that way. There were already far too many things she didn't know about without Fletcher adding to that list.

"I'm leaving," Jane said sharply, not sparing a glance at either Mikaelson.

Fletcher heaved a sigh of relief. "Great. Let's-"

"Not with you," Jane interrupted him, beginning to walk away, only to be blocked by a very British asshole in a leather jacket.

"That's great, love. Why don't we take a little trip to the archives, in that case?" Klaus purred smoothly, Jane glaring up at him like a very irate child.

Fletcher cut in, once again, with a snarled; "She's not going anywhere with you, buddy!"

Jane, feeling very uncomfortable with being talked about as if she were an object, took this opportunity to slip into the roiling crowd of the jazz bar and shuffle her way over to the door. Alexie was too busy trying to convince a very upset-looking, obviously underage girl that he wasn't allowed to let her into the club. Jane found herself feeling relieved, glad that she didn't have to explain herself to him.

She slipped around the perimeter of the street to an empty backlot, planning on cutting through Seventh Ward in an effort to avoid the New Orleans party scene. SW was a family neighborhood, full of townhomes and small businesses, which meant it was a good deal less dangerous for one tiny, lone girl at night. Or at least Jane hoped it was. If all else failed, she had heels to dig into someone's foot and a very loud scream.

Neither of these things came in handy when she was karate chopped in the stomach and sent flying across the lot.

Jane wheezed out a choked breath (and maybe just a little bit of blood- Were her ribs broken?) and glanced up at her assailant- Assailant _s._ There were two of them, one in a black newsboy cap, the other curvy and pale. Both with red eyes and _fangs-_

" _Saint baise,"_ Jane breathed, voice scratchy with the effort to come out of her throat. _"Vampire."_

Marcellus Gerard had been right.

At that moment, a gigantic ball of auburn fur came barreling around the corner of the building and into the lot. Jane held back a shriek of surprise as it came to a stop in front her, stopping and snarling at the vampires. It was a _wolf._ A wolf the size of a fucking _horse._

And it seemed to be defending her for some reason.

"Fuck off, mutt," the female vampire snapped. "This doesn't involve you."

The wolf ignored her, lunging forward and biting at her arm. A good chunk of pale flesh was yanked away, and the woman let out an enraged scream, swiping at the wolf's muzzle and leaving a slash of red blood across its snout.

The creature howled in pain, bones breaking themselves and shifting and fur falling away to reveal-

"Alexie?" Jane cried.

There was a clattering sound, and Fletcher came barreling onto the scene, face more enraged than Jane had ever seen it.

"Thierry!" Fletcher bellowed. "What the fuck?"

The male vampire, apparently named Thierry, glared at Fletcher with red eyes and replied, "She's on Marcel's list, Gaudet. You should leave before you are, too."

"I'm not part of the New Orleans coven, asshole," Fletcher hissed back. "I don't answer to Marcel. She's under _my family's protection_ -"

"Is there a problem here, Thierry?"

The Mikaelson brothers, it seemed, had a penchant for appearing out of nowhere at the strangest times.

Thierry glared at Klaus, adjusting the brim of his hat and letting the red bleed from his eyes. "No," he replied in a clipped tone. "Just taking the trash out for Marcel."

Jane bristled at the "trash" comment, but was too shell-shocked to respond to it. She vaguely noticed Alexie approach her and push her hair off of her neck to survey the extent of her injuries. Jane could faintly feel a line of something hot trickling down her spine from the back of her head.

Elijah remained silent at the remark, and Jane saw that his eyes were locked, worried, on her. Klaus barked out a laugh and flexed his hands menacingly.

"Tell Marcel that this one's mine," he purred. "And if he has a problem with it, he can come talk to me. Run along now."

Thierry looked like he wanted to argue, but nodded stiffly and turned tail. In a moment, he and the injured, female vampire were gone.

"She's not yours," Fletcher growled at Klaus, striding over to Jane and hooking his arms under hers to yank her to her feet. She could feel her skin shuddering against his. "You need to leave her the hell alone-

"I apologize, mate. Did you _want_ her to die?" Klaus asked snidely, venom dripping from his voice.

"Stop," Jane croaked out. She shook off Fletcher and Alexie, stumbling away from them. "What the hell is happening?"

Elijah materialized in front of her, face appropriately concerned, and said, "Nothing, Jane. Forget this-"

"Are you trying to wipe my memories?" Jane asked hysterically. "You're trying to wipe my memories! Can vampires even _do_ that?"

" _Da_ ," Alexie offered helpfully.

"Put some clothes on, _vous psychopathe_!"

"Oh for God's sakes," Klaus complained. "The supernatural is real, love, and currently rules the city of New Orleans. And because you, curious little minx that you are, read the leader of the supernatural community's journals, you are on the vampires' kill list. Congratulations."

 _Marcellus Gerard is the leader of the vampires in charge of New Orleans- vampires are_ _ **real**_ _\- those two knew who Fletcher was-_ _ **Fletcher-!**_

Jane turned to Elijah. "You talked about making a deal with me earlier," she prompted curtly. At his nod, she continued; "I'd like to now, if you don't mind."

" _Beb_ , what the hell-?"

She ignored Fletcher completely, and explained; "I'll let you two have the Gerard journals and anything else you may need from either me or the city's records, and in return, you keep Alexie, Fletcher, and the rest of the Gaudet family safe from whatever's going on here."

Elijah studied her for a moment (everyone ignored Fletcher's squawk of outrage) before nodding, apparently satisfied with what he had found in her face. He turned to Klaus. "It might be fortuitous, brother, to have an informant inside of the humans' city. You would be able to more easily learn Marcellus' history."

Klaus snorted and replied, "Brother, if you really think the little treat will be useful, do what you like."

And with permission, Elijah grasped Jane's extended hand and shook it firmly.

* * *

 **Footnotes: Translations and Definitions**

 _Quelque Chose Mauvaise Cette Manière Vient-_ "Something wicked this way comes." A fitting chapter title, I thought.

 _Naturellement-_ French for "naturally"

 _Beb-_ A Cajun term of endearment, meaning "sweetheart" or "darling". Fletcher uses this as "sweetheart".

 _Bahbin-_ A Cajun slang word for "pout".

 _The Battle of Karánsebes-_ On September 17, 1788, during the Austro-Turkish War, two different sets of the Austrian army, drunk off of schnapps and mistaking each other for the Turkish, began to battle each other, resulting in 10,000 casualties. I couldn't make this up if I tried, people.

 _Making the veiller-_ Cajun slang. To spend the evening talking with friends.

 _Mamere-_ A Cajun term for grandmother

 _Connard-_ French for son of a bitch.

 _Sainte baise-_ French for holy fuck.

 _Da-_ Russian for yes

 _Vous psychopathe-_ French for "you psychopath"


	2. Chapter 2

**Jane Doe  
Chapter 2: Courtiser La Bête**

The receptionist in Jane's building looked at her like she was insane.

Granted, the back top half of her body was covered in blood, her hair was a mess, and she was accompanied by four, ridiculously well-built men, but still.

Abigail, the young daughter of the building owner, bridged hesitantly: "Jane? Are you alright?"

Jane stopped in her tracks, halfway to the rickety, wrought-iron elevator. Her bare feet were growing cold against the tiles of the lobby floor. "I'm fine, Abigail," she replied, adding a nervous laugh for good measure. "Just a… crazier night out than I was expecting."

 _To put it mildly._

The high schooler seemed unconvinced, but nodded anyways. "Yell if you need anything. My dad'll come help."

" _Thank you,_ Abigail."

The elevator was only big enough for two or three people at a time, and certainly not designed to carry supernatural behemoths like the men accompanying Jane. The building Jane lived in had been a hotel from the twenties through the late seventies, when Abigail's parents had bought it, and transformed it into three floors of reasonably spacious apartments. The historic feel of the complex had been what had drawn Jane to it in the first place, although the friendly management and reasonable rent rates were what had sealed the deal for her.

Jane, who was the smallest, rode up to the third floor with Elijah and Alexie, who were the largest. Klaus and Fletcher were glaring daggers at each other as the doors clanged shut and the elevator began to rise, Abigail looking on nervously. Jane prayed a fight wouldn't ensue.

The short ride was an awkward one, and the moment after she unlocked the door to her apartment even more so. Elijah stood there for a moment, just staring at her, until Jane started, finally getting it, and cried, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Come in!"

As Elijah stepped succinctly over the threshold, Jane made a mental note to reread _Dracula_ as a reference book.

"It's a bit cluttered," Jane apologized hastily. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and she bustled around the living room, moving books from one table to another and closing up notebooks and journals. "Can I get you two anything? Tea?"

"Professor."

Alexie put his hands over hers. She hadn't realized they were shaking.

"At ease, Jane," Elijah assured her, eyes watching worriedly.

Jane huffed out a laugh and slumped onto her couch. She ran hands through her hair, wincing when they caught on dried blood, and said, "I'm sorry. It's not every day you find out Anne Rice and Bram Stoker were nonfiction writers."

There was another knock on the door. Jane went to stand on shaky legs but was pushed back down by Alexie, and Elijah was the one who let Fletcher and Klaus through, while Jane called, "Come in!" for Klaus' sake.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, a tiny ball of black fur launched itself at Klaus' face, hissing hysterically, and sank its tiny claws into vampiric skin.

"Josephine, no!" Jane cried.

The cat was batted aside and swept up into Jane's waiting arms. Two button-like eyes glared at Klaus from where they were nestled in a safe bundle of dark fur and pale arms.

Klaus growled. "What is _that_?"

"My cat," Jane replied defensively, taking a step back from the looming vampire.

"You named your cat after a cheap cartoon character from the nineties?"*

"No. After Josephine Bonaparte."

"I hate to break it to you, love, but that's even more ridiculous of a name."

Jane didn't know how to respond to that, so she shoved Josephine into the laundry room, shut the door, and turned back to Klaus. "Explain," she said, and crossed her arms.

"First," said Elijah, stepping closer only for Jane to skitter back and away from him. He frowned and continued: "First, the journals, Jane."

She nodded promptly and edged closer to the coffee table, and Klaus, who was standing in front of it, before dropping to her knees and pawing through the papers on the shelf beneath it. The pages she emerged with were nothing to look twice at. Hand-cut paper, yellowed and hardened with age, bound to each other with twine and glue. On top of them were a few, leather-bound volumes; recordings of Marcel's life once he was no longer enslaved, Elijah guessed.

Elijah squared his shoulders and extended a hand, consciously making himself look intimidating. "May I see them?"

Jane handed them over and Elijah thumbed through the papers faster than she could catch, eyes absorbing letters at a speed that made her itch with jealousy. Elijah frowned after a scant few minutes. He handed the stack back to Jane, who sunk slightly under the weight, and threw a quick glance at Klaus.

"We need to dispose of these."

Klaus immediately looked suspicious, but Elijah was already flashing in and out of the kitchen and then shoving Jane gently onto the balcony that wrapped around the exterior of her apartment, a metal mixing bowl in hand. He slipped the journals out of Jane's hands before the other men could get out of the apartment, and the papers were in the mixing bowl and lighter out of his pocket before Jane could even guess at what he intended to do.

"Do you remember all of what these contain?" Elijah inquired, eyes filled with the utmost importance and earnestness.

"Yes," said Jane, "although I don't understand-"

 _Rebekah._

The sister of Marcellus' master- the one he was in love with. The woman who could get him killed and the horrible deeds he committed for her. The betrayal that ended in a city burning and a family of monsters fleeing for their lives.

Jane flushed hard and nodded again, so hard her vision blurred. "Yes, I remember."

Elijah chanced a sad smile at her. "Then you know why these have to burn."

And Jane did, but Klaus didn't, and the moment the papers caught he snarled out; "Elijah, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Something fell over Elijah's face, then. Or, rather, something fell _back_ onto Elijah's face. There had been a bareness to him that Jane didn't notice until it was gone, but he straightened and composed his features back into their easy coolness. She wondered if she was the only one who had seen it, but Klaus's eyes were sharper than they had been previously, and something in his stance reminded her of a guard dog on high alert.

"There are spells in those journals, brother," Elijah replied shortly, shoulders as tense as his voice. "Powerful ones that the witches will use against you if they read them. Marcellus' secrets and codes he may have forgotten about over time. If the journals still existed, anyone could get their hands on them. But we are the only ones with access to Jane."

Klaus studied her at that, and she flushed so deep she felt it all the way down to her chest. The moment they stepped back into the apartment, she grabbed a sweater and pulled it on over the slip dress she had worn to the bar that night.

It was odd to think that a scant few hours ago, everything had been normal. And now, she was holding court with two, very old vampires, a Russian werewolf, and her detective best friend who may or may not have been a witch- Wizard? Warlock? What was he, exactly?

"Can you please explain what's going on, now?" Jane asked, hiding as much of herself as she could in the sweater. "I mean, I understand that you're all… you know. And that you two" -here, she nodded at the Mikaelsons- "are the Elijah and Niklaus in the journals. But I don't quite understand why you've come back, or where Alexie, Fletcher, and I fit into all this."

"You don't fit into this," Fletcher interrupted. His expression was half stony, half incensed. "Your involvement is a complete accident, and it ends after tonight."

Klaus snorted. "I beg to differ. As sweet as your little friend is, I won't protect her if she has nothing to offer, and I'm not one to refuse what she _is_ offering."

"What am I offering, again?" said Jane.

"Information," Elijah clarified.

"Right. Thank you!"

Fletcher huffed at her, and Jane flinched. She hated making him unhappy, but this… Well, this was an opportunity to protect him and the rest of his family, and damn it all if she wasn't going to take it.

There was a hint of uncertainty, however, a question that she didn't dare ask, niggling at the back of her brain. If the supernatural were, in fact, real, who was to say that the answers she had been looking for weren't a part of it?

Elijah was watching her intently, and Jane immediately reached up and tugged on her pendant. His gaze was unnerving, and she cowered under it.

"As you know, Marcellus took control of the city once my family and I fled from our father," Elijah began. "Niklaus has returned with the intent to become king once more, but there have been some rather unforeseen… complications."

"Marcel controls the New Orleans coven of witches," Fletcher chimed in. At Jane's concerned look, he added; "Not me, Leon, and my parents. We're from the bayou so we don't belong to the coven. But the situation in the city is a bit of a _de'pouille._ The vampires attack the witches constantly, and all of the humans who run things around here are under Marcel's thumb."

He scowled darkly, patting at the gun Jane knew was concealed beneath his leather jacket. "I've been doing my damnedest to try and keep things safe and under control, but it's getting harder. Alexie helps out whenever he can."

Here, Alexie gave a proud nod.

Jane was stumped. How was one supposed to react to their best friend being some sort of supernatural freedom-fighter?

"Well," was all she could think to say.

Elijah nodded solemnly. "Well, indeed."

Klaus, it seemed, had had enough, and he said as much: "I think we've said all that needs to be said," he expounded, leaping up from where he had been perched on Jane's floral armchair. "I'll tell Marcel to take Joan off his hit list-"

"It's Jane, actually."

"-and Jessica will help whenever we need her-"

" _Jane._ "

"-and before you know it, I'll have my town back," Klaus finished, looking inordinately pleased with himself. "Now if you'll pardon me, the night is young, and my cup runneth over with nubile young tourists in search of sex."

Alexie's nose wrinkled. "That is too much information," he decided out loud.

Klaus just smiled at him, winked in Jane's direction, and the next thing any of them knew, he was gone and the door was shutting behind him.

Elijah adjusted the lapels of his coat with a sigh. "I apologize for Niklaus' behavior," he breached, "and for getting you involved in this, Jane."

She just bit her lip and shrugged, because the situation really was a shitty one, and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to forgive any of them yet.

"I don't doubt I will see you all again soon," said Elijah. At a sad smile from Jane, he nodded his head and took his leave.

Fletcher didn't wait very long. The door had just clicked shut before he jumped to his seat and strode over to Jane, breaching, " _Beb-_ "

"I'd rather not hear it, Fletch," Jane interrupted sadly, fingers itching to entwine themselves in Josephine's silky fur. " _Pac ce soir._ "

Fletcher had his _I'm going to argue with you_ face on, and Jane felt a turning in her stomach as she braced for impact. Alexie, it seemed, had other ideas, and Jane once again thanked God for his presence in her life.

"Come along, Detective," Alexie rumbled, a large hand appearing on Fletcher's shoulder. "I think Professor needs time."

Jane nodded in agreement, a headache beginning with the motion, and watched with bleary eyes as the two men exited the apartment, leaving her finally, blissfully alone.

Always alone.

* * *

Jane did not leave her apartment again that weekend. She made a veritable nest in her living room, equipped with every book concerning the supernatural she had in the flat, and a very cuddly kitten, who was quite enjoying the plethora of pets she had been receiving that weekend.

Fletcher called Jane's cellphone so she turned it off, and when he called the landline, Jane unplugged it. He, Leon, and their parents went to church alone on Sunday morning. She knew because Wibby, Fletcher's mother, texted her about it. And Jane felt bad about missing out on what had been a much-honored tradition for the past four years, but she just _couldn't._

Returning to work on Monday was difficult. Her voice shook throughout her morning lecture, which she sincerely doubted helped her students much. _Galwain the Green_ was already a difficult text to annotate, made more so when the professor mixed up and mispronounced words. American History and French History passed along the same tangent, and Jane spilled a chai latte down her front at lunch, when a blond man asked to borrow the sugar packets at her table.

The archives were unerringly loud that evening, the students all preparing for the first round of tests and essays of the semester. Jane jumped a foot out of her desk chair every time someone approached, half expecting it to be Klaus or Elijah.

Tuesday was difficult. The first time she taught Regional History was at ten-thirty that morning, and as usual, a smiling Alexie Popov was waiting for her to unlock the classroom door at ten-fifteen precisely. Jane ignored him best she could, only nodding slightly at his excited: "Professor!", and proceeded with the lecture as usual, even if she dropped her notes a few times.

And on Wednesday, Jane met Marcel for the first time.

Granted, she didn't _know_ he was Marcel, the king of the supernatural underbelly of New Orleans, when she first talked to him. He had seemed nice, if a bit flippant. Of course, when he asked her to take him to the section of the archives about witchcraft, Jane's eye had started twitching, but he couldn't have possibly known about the hellish weekend she'd had.

Unless, of course, he did know.

"You know, I see the appeal now, Jane," Marcel commented as she was crouched down on the floor, sorting through the dustiest tomes at the bottom.

"Pardon?" she replied.

"Why Klaus finally decided to settle down."

 _Oh, merde._

Marcel was over her before she could even think to run away, and when he held out his hand, she wasn't sure if he was trying to split her in half over it or help her up.

Jane experienced a sensation something like her heart climbing up to the top of her throat and then committing _seppuku*_ before throwing itself back down into her chest.

All she could think to say was: "Wha- How- Um, why do you…?"

"Klaus told me you two were together," Marcel prompted, smiling in a way that was much too pleasant and friendly for a vampire. "I'll admit, I had to weasel him out of it. He didn't give up the secret easily, but I needed a good reason to take you off my list."

"Sorry for reading your journal, by the way," Jane whispered, and then flinched immediately afterward.

Fletcher probably would have gotten mad at her for apologizing to a vampire if he had been there. But he wasn't and Marcel had taken out a hit on her a few days ago and vampires were real ( _Sans nom: Ce que le fuck, honnêtement?_ ) so Jane made an executive decision to do whatever the fuck she wanted in this conversation and screw what Fletcher would think if he was here-!

"No worries." Marcel laughed, all New Orleans fun. "I just wanted to meet the girl who finally tamed Klaus."

Jane's mind flicked to Klaus then. All wild blond curls and feral smiles. Unbidden, she word-vomited: "I don't think anyone can really _tame_ Klaus."

Marcel let out a short, warm laugh, and clapped Jane's shoulder. "You're alright, Jane," he decided. "It was nice meeting you. But I'll see you at the Masquerade, won't I?"

"Beg pardon?"

Jane's query went unacknowledged, because Marcel was gone, and she began to wonder if vampires were just going to pop in and out of her life willy nilly now that she was their designated librarian.

* * *

Josephine attacked Klaus' face again when he appeared in front of the door to Jane's balcony the next night.

Klaus vaulted the cat away from him, and Jane scrambled to catch Josephine before she smashed against the wall. The Bombay let out an unhappy yowl from Jane's arms and swiped unhappily. Jane conceded and released the feline, who prowled up to Klaus, hissed haughtily, and then took a defensive position in front of Jane, yellow eyes gleaming.

"Sorry about that," Jane relinquished, internally smacking herself for apologizing to a vampire, _again._

Klaus glared at Josephine vulturously. "That little beast should be condemned," he disparaged. "It's a menace!"

" _She_ is defending her home," Jane bit back poisonously.

The vampire paused for a moment, staring at her with an eyebrow raised, before his face settled back into its usual, smug, not-quite-a-smirk. "Whatever you say, love."

"Why are you here?" Jane demanded.

Rudeness was usually a trait she refused to abide, and always something she prided herself on never exhibiting- but dammit, Klaus got to her! She had known him for less than a week, and already, he was managing to bring out the worst in her.

His eyes lingered over her in a way that set her skin (of which there was entirely too much on display for her liking) tingling. Jane flushed so darkly her cheeks burned, and reached for the robe draped over the back of her couch. She was still in only a nightgown and slippers, but the little bit more of coverage helped give some semblance of privacy in front of Klaus.

"A rather important acquaintance of mine has hit a spot of trouble with the New Orleans coven," he elucidated. His mouth wrapped around the word "acquaintance" in what was almost a snarl. "Her life force has been connected to that of one of the coven's leaders. The devil's bitch seems to believe this will protect her from me, and while she will die either way, I would prefer for my acquaintance" -again with the reluctant give of the word- "to not perish as well."

"So you want to find a reverse spell or something in one of the city's grimoires?" Jane surmised.

"Aren't you an astute one?" Klaus drawled bitingly.

Jane harrumphed, uncrossing her arms to plant her hands firmly on her hips. "I'll have you know that I am a _professor._ Yes, I would say that I am 'astute'."

Another eye roll.

"Enough of this. Sassiness is not your strongest suit. Let's go."

For some odd reason, Klaus made for the balcony rather than the door to the apartment, and Jane did not think she was quite brave enough to tell him that he was going in the wrong direction. He glanced at Jane over his shoulder and made a "are you coming?" kind of shrug. When Jane stepped up next to him, he reached for her.

She flinched back like his hands were hot irons. "Um-"

"You aren't quite as fast as I am, darling," Klaus groused. "And time is not something I enjoy wasting."

 _Oh, super baise._ He was going to carry her to the archives.

Jane had a feeling he was going to be just as testy about this situation as he had been the first time she met him. Thus, even though she felt her heart in her throat and her hands shook so hard she could barely swipe her key ring off the coffee table, she let Klaus wrap his arms around her. They were almost feverishly hot. If he weren't a vampire, she would have offered to take him to the doctor's office.

"Hold your breath," Klaus advised, and when he started moving, she understood why.

To Jane's credit, she didn't react in the expected fashion: "Holy shit", "Oh my God", "I need a minute", screaming, etc. She just rapidly blinked the tears out of her eyes, straightened her nightgown, and turned to unlock the door to the library once they had arrived.

Klaus would have been impressed if he hadn't seen Jane's reaction to the supernatural before this. Maybe he was just used to the teenage population, but Jane seemed to him almost freakishly calm. If he had done this to Elena Gilbert- or heaven forbid, _Caroline_ \- there would have been hell to pay.

The New Orleans archives were one part museum and the other part library. The glow of the city and its street lights cast a series of eerie, yellow silhouettes through the high-set windows at the front and back of the building. The Egyptian sarcophagus encased in glass on display in the middle of the witchcraft aisle nearly caught Klaus off guard.

Jane immediately dropped to her knees and reached for a series of dusty, spine-cracked tomes on the very bottom shelf of the book rack furthest from the sarcophagus.

"You said it was life-force linking?" she questioned, blowing dust away and sneezing three times in rapid succession. "That sounds as if could be the traditional French- although, I suppose it might be Celtic- If you don't mind me asking, do you know the origins of the spell-caster's magic?"

Klaus stared. "Ehm- Last name Deveraux."

Jane nodded, as if she'd been expecting this. "Cajun- French then." She slapped the third book on the pile into Klaus' hands. "Pages five-hundred through seven-fifty-three are all about life force spells. I'd bet my Hemingways you find what you're looking for here."

Klaus couldn't stop gaping at her.

Here was a nervous, twitchy human who was so small he could probably break her in half by giving her waist a good pinch. She refused to give a last name. (Klaus had also noticed, upon his second visit to Jane's apartment, that there were no family pictures to be seen. Certainly, multiple images of Jane and her detective friend, and a dark-skinned couple with a younger son whom she was obviously fond of, but none of what could undoubtedly be her family.)

And yet, despite all of this, she had proven herself to be a surprisingly, but remarkably, useful asset: highly intelligent, calm under pressure, and (Klaus had to admit this) rather pretty at that.

"Erm." Jane shifted nervously and tugged her robe even closer around herself. "I met Marcel yesterday," she divulged finally. "He said something about me attending a masquerade ball this weekend… And seemed to think we were a couple…?"

Klaus caught on remarkably fast. "That's because I told him as much, love. It appeared the only way to convince him not to kill you."

"Oh."

"Which is why you will be attending the ball with me- to keep up appearances, you understand."

Klaus wasn't even looking at her as he said this, too busy thumbing through the pages of the grimoire she had retrieved for him. Jane felt thoroughly dismissed.

"Yes, this will do nicely," Klaus said, and closed the tome with a snap and a puff of dust. "I'll text you the details of the masquerade party tomorrow. Do wear something pretty. Farewells until then."

He disappeared before Jane could even ask how he had her number- or even better: How she was expected to get back to her apartment at this time of night.

As the archives fell back into their hum of silence and history, the shadows seemed to stretch out their hands toward Jane like they never had before. She could not help but think that Klaus' influence in her life would force her into even more darkness. And the gloom reached, thin and suffocating, around her mind to _squeeze._

* * *

 **Footnotes: Translations and Definitions**

 _Courtiser La Bête_ \- "Courting the Beast".

" _You named your cat after a cheap cartoon character from the nineties?"-_ Klaus is referencing the 90's cartoon _Josie and the Pussycats_ here. Josephine is, in fact, named after Josephine Bonaparte, the wife of French dictator, Napoleon Bonaparte.

 _De'pouille_ \- A Cajun slang word for anyone or anything that is a mess.

 _Pac ce soir-_ French for "not tonight".

 _Oh, merde-_ French for "oh, shit".

 _Seppuku-_ A form of Japanese ritualistic suicide used by samurai warriors to avoid capture or shame in which they would cut either their abdomens or bellies- or later, by disembowelment.

 _Sans nom: Ce que le fuck, honnêtement?_ : French for "what the fuck, honestly?".

 _Oh, super baise-_ French for "oh, great fuck".

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! Chapter three may be a little late next month due to Easter obligations, the end of this semester, starting a new job, starting my first professional show, etc, etc. I hope to have chapter three up by May first. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined, and thanks again for your time and attention!**


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